In much better spirits after a sandwich and a drink, I walked through the college gates, smiling at the odd acquaintance I came across. I spotted a few people from my physics class - including Andrew, an old friend - sitting at a table in the canteen, laughing over study notes and homework. I paused a moment, considering, before lowering my head and making a beeline towards the automatic doors of the library. I’d never found working in a group to be especially productive. In these last few months before exams, productivity was a priority. Although, to be honest, it had been a priority for me for as long as I could remember. 

However, I have to admit, a significant portion of my time in the library was spent gazing out the window, while my mind drifted between memories of that woman. The woman in red. It was amazing how long I could think about what must’ve been a five minute interaction at most. I wondered if she would be on the bus tomorrow, or the day after. If I would ever see her again. It was unlikely - I’d been taking the bus for the past two years and this was the first time I’d seen her. It must’ve been a one-off occasion. 

Physics was the first lesson of the today, where I sat next to Andy - a fact I was very grateful for. “You good?” he asked, as he took his seat next to me. The teacher, an old woman who used to be a university lecturer, droned on about the life cycle of stars. 

“Not bad,” I said, as usual, “busy nowadays.”

He laughed, “You’ll be fine, Daniel. What did you get on the physics mock? Like one-hundred percent?”

“Eighty-seven.” I replied, smiling.

“Oh. Close enough.”

I wanted to tell him about the woman on the bus. I even opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again, hesitating. How would I go about telling him something like that? I’d probably just come off trashy. So I moved to a safer topic of conversation.

“Have you made any progress with Thelma?” I asked, giving him a nudge.

Andrew gave an uncharacteristically shy smile, “Nah. Nothing yet.”

“Come on, what are you waiting for? College is ending soon. Make the most of it.”

Andrew nodded, “True,” then he leaned in, “What about you, then? Half the girls in our class are making eyes at you.” He made puppy-eyes at me, breaking into a terrible impression of a girl, “Oh, Daniel. I love your eyes. Take me home and show me what that big, big-”

I snorted, “Don’t.”

“-brain can do.” Andrew finished, smirking. “Seriously, man, are you gay or something?”

“Wish I was. Girls are trouble,” I sighed, turning to the smartboard to copy down notes, “I’m just busy.”

“Busy wasting your life, man! If it’s between studying hard and getting a ninety, or getting a girlfriend and getting an eighty-”

“I think I’d be getting something much lower if I had a girlfriend,” I grinned, “something closer to seventy.”

Andrew snickered, smacking me on the back, “See what I mean? You are wasting your potential. In terms of social life, I mean. Remember, in high school-”

I groaned, “Don’t remind me.”

“In high school, you were the shit, man. What happened?” Andrew asked, but he knew as well as I did exactly what had happened. 

“I don’t know,” I said, frowning at the memory, “I got busy.” I turned to Erin, the girl sitting behind me. “Hey, do you know if Mr Harding’s revision session is on today?”

“I don’t think he’s in.” she said, “He wasn’t last Friday, either.”

“Oh, is bio cancelled then?”

She shrugged, “I think we’ve got cover.”

Andrew swatted at my shoulder, that look on his face where he’s so excited he forgets how to vocalise. I thanked Erin before turning to him, “What is it?”

“Dude,” he said, speaking in hushed tones, “if that cover teacher is who I think it is, you are lucky.” 

“Why’s that?”

“I heard from Rob that there’s this new cover teacher and she is…” he raised his eyebrows, “Hot. Like, really hot. Like, Playboy hot.” his voice got louder with each addition, drawing glances in our direction. 

“Playboy? What, have you not discovered the internet?”

Andrew rolled his eyes, “Fine. OnlyFans hot.”

“Well, have you seen her?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. There were some teachers around college that could be considered attractive. A few of them had likely entered the fantasies of every guy in college at some point, including my own. But for a teacher to be so hot that there were rumours, myths and legends being formed about how hot they are… that was unheard of. 

“Nah,” Andrew said. Then, as if to console himself, added, “it’s all probably overhyped anyway.”

“Yeah,” I said, “Probably.” 

“I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out, though,” Andrew grinned. 

“How would you know it’s her?”

Andrew looked at me like I was stupid, “Dude, if she’s really as hot as people say, don’t you think I’d notice? Besides, from what I’ve heard, she’s easy to spot.”

“Why’s that?”

Andrew smirked, whispering, “They say she’s pretty much always wearing red.” 

“Yeah?” I said absently, my mind already entertaining the possibility that seemed too good to be true. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I was looking forward to biology. 

 

*

 

“Where is Sir, anyway?” someone asked, as we settled into the empty classroom. 

“He’s off sick, I think.” someone else replied. With no supervision, conversation erupted all over the room - until a flat, rhythmic sound cut through our voices, getting louder each time. The sound of boots on hard tile, approaching us. 

She strode into the classroom, carrying a stack of papers before her. Her skirt stretched to its limit with every long, graceful step, wrapped around her toned, round posterior. She set down the papers and stretched, arms above her head, large breasts pressing against the thin fabric of her red satin shirt. For a brief second, the form of her nipples was visible. A playful smile remained on her face, as if she was perfectly aware of my lecherous gaze crawling over her body. In hindsight, the hunger with which I admired her is embarrassing to think about. But I couldn’t help it. She demanded attention. 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” she said, casting her gaze over the class. “As you may know, Mr Harding is-” Her eyes fell on mine, and I was able to offer a discreet, calm smile that didn’t betray the pounding of my heart. I was uncomfortably aware of where all that blood was going. She turned away, her expression unchanged, “Mr Harding is ill, and I will be covering your lesson today.”

“Is he okay, Miss?” someone said.

“I’ve heard  he’s making a speedy recovery.” She picked up a whiteboard pen, “You can call me ‘Miss Vixen’.” she said, spelling it out on the board. “And yes, that is my real name.” she shrugged, “I didn’t choose it.” 

The class laughed. Compelled by some primal instinct to impress, I had the balls to shout out, “That’s a pretty cool name, I haven’t heard it before.”

“It is quite rare,” she said, barely glancing in my direction. “Now, we’re going to do some papers.” she said, grabbing a pile off the stack she had set down on the table. “By this point in the course, you should be familiar with most of these topics, but let me know if you need any help.” She walked between the aisles, setting a practice paper on each desk. I watched her as she moved, graceful and poised, even while doing something as mundane as handing out papers. Then she sat down at her desk, adjusted her glasses, and tapped away at the computer. 

I wanted to mention what had happened on the bus, but I couldn’t exactly do it here. Not now, anyway. Maybe after class. The thought excited me, though I knew I was being stupid - there was no way she would be open to the advances of an eighteen-year old, and especially not one who also happened to be her student. A hot teacher hooking up with her students? That was something confined to the fantastical realm of erotic RPGs. 

So I buckled down and burned through the paper she had handed out. It was pretty simple - there were only a few question-types that I hadn’t come across in my revision. I closed the paper and put the lid on my pen, all smug. But the clock showed 3PM, which meant that there was still an hour of lesson left. I asked for another paper. She pointed at a different stack, on the other side of the room, not even looking away from her computer. 

Immersed in my work, I was surprised to hear the bell overhead, signalling the end of the college day. Most of the people around me had already packed up and hurried out the door. I put my things back in my pencil case one at a time, closing it with a satisfying zip. When I next looked up, we were alone in the room. I turned to leave, but something held me back. She was only covering our class, which meant I might never get this chance again. And on the bus… what had she said? Unfortunately, you didn’t. After I had  face-planted into her tits. That meant something, right?

She sighed, turning from the computer screen, “Daniel, is it? Everything alright?”

I turned to her, filled with a newfound certainty. She had looked at me that way on the bus. She had implied that she wanted my face in her tits… again. She was just pulling away because I was now her student, and any misstep could cost her her job. Which meant I just had to play it subtle. I didn’t want her to lose her job over me. 

“Do you take the 90 to college, Miss?”

She watched me over her glasses, the barest hint of a smile appearing on her face, “I do. I think I saw you on there, too.” she tilted her head at me, dark hair falling to the side, “Did you have a nice trip?”

It took me a moment, and I couldn’t help but break out into a grin once I got it, “Yes. Actually, I was hoping I could make that trip again.”

“Perhaps you could’ve, if the situation hadn’t become… well, this.”

“I can be discreet.” I said, flushing as she laughed out loud - a high, musical sound. 

“Forget it. There are certain, hm, hazards associated with this experiment you’re proposing. Mainly to me.”

I smiled at the metaphor, “I’ll do a risk assessment for homework. But where should I send it to you? You’re not on the college email system.” This was more of a guess than anything - most cover teachers were not on the system, especially not new ones. 

She hesitated for only a moment, “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to give you my personal email.”

“That would be great,” I said, then added, “Wait, my email’s actually not working at the moment. Could I add you on Snapchat?” I asked, heart pumping in my chest.

She laughed, her mouth open in disbelief. “You’ve got some nerve.” She threw a cautious glance at the door. It was closed, and the corridor outside was empty. “Are you sure you can’t wait until next lesson? I hardly ever check my phone.”

I smiled. She was playing along. I had a chance. “I’m sorry to be an inconvenience, but I just have so many questions about, uh, biology. I can’t wrap my head around the Homo Sapiens’ courtship rituals.”

“Luckily for you, I’m something of an expert in that field,” she said, pushing a pen and paper towards me. I noted down my Snap username, making an effort to standardise my usually illegible handwriting. She looked it over, nodding. “Now, get out of here.”

“Yes, Miss.” 

“Good boy.” she said, in a voice just barely above a whisper. She held my gaze for a moment, then returned to the computer. The smile on her lips remained. 

 

*

 

Over the next few hours - on my way home, while preparing dinner, between pages of books, I checked my phone to see if she had added me yet. Every time I was met with disappointment, and became more and more convinced that she was never going to add me at all. That she was just toying with me - or worse, had reported me to someone at college, showing that sheet of paper with my Snap username as evidence. Something like that would greatly hurt my university prospects. The thought made me anxious, and in an attempt to quell these fears, I began to think of what would happen if she was open to my advances. What would happen if I could unbutton her shirt, or slip a hand under her skirt and feel her firm ass in my hands… 

Suffice to say, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was stroking myself to an imagined scenario involving a very naked Miss Vixen. I took my time, wanting to hold onto the vivid fantasy that had infiltrated my mind. Gasping, I began to go faster - and that was when my phone vibrated on the bedside table, so suddenly and so violently that I almost climaxed in surprise. I tapped the screen with my clean hand, reading the notification:

Miss V has added you as a friend!

Miss V, huh? There was no way that was her username on her actual account. She must’ve made a second one, to maintain some semblance of anonymity. Nonetheless, her timing couldn’t have been better. I desperately wanted to show her what I was doing right then - to show her my hand wrapped around my thick, tensed cock. I’m not sure where this urge in men originates - the urge to proudly display their member every time the opportunity presents itself, but I know I was feeling it hard back then. 

Still, I was afraid. What if she reported me? It was a distinct possibility, but… 

I had an idea. 

I held the camera in place, recording a few slow, teasing, deliberate strokes, from an angle that flattered my throbbing member. I started at the tip, worked my way down to my balls, then back up again. I held my breath as I sent it to her, praying I had judged the situation right. Not that it mattered too much now, anyway. Because I had a cover. Immediately after sending the video, I sent a series of suitably panicked texts:

Oh no

I’m so sorry, Miss

That was meant for someone else!! I’m so embarrassed

DON’T OPEN IT 

I waited a few minutes for her to reply, but I could only tease myself for so long. I thought of her as I climaxed; Miss Vixen with her dark hair down, lying on her back, arching her back, pushing her breasts upwards. 

It was only as I lay there, panting, my hand dripping with a mixture of lube and ejaculate, that the true, visceral horror of what I had done began to creep in. Sending a dick pic to a teacher? Worse, one she had never asked for? I was done. Any potential career I could’ve had in the future was suddenly inaccessible. I had shot myself in the foot. And next, I was gonna shoot myself in the goddamn balls, so it never happened again.  

Then it occurred to me. If I deleted the entire chat, everything I’d sent would be gone. 

I scrambled for my phone with my clean hand, jamming my thumb against the fingerprint sensor a few times before it unlocked. Snapchat was already open, and my chat with Miss V was at the top. 

“Shit,” I muttered, looking at the screen, “Shit, shit, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck,”

I dropped my phone and pressed the knuckles of my clean hand against my forehead. So much for my future, I thought. Under her username was a hollow red arrow, followed by the word: Opened.